As I grow older as a Christian and experience more and more painful things, I realise that I truly am made for somewhere (and something else).  Here is a poem that I wrote today which reflects this –

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‘I Don’t Belong’ (A rondeau redoublé)

by Nahum H. Sennitt (June 2023)

(All rights reserved.)

 

I don’t belong to this dry earth,

This cage of sin and grieving face.

My home’s not where my life was birthed

Yet ancient gardens hold my place.

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On spinning wheels like rats they race,

My friends in endless wearying work.

How do they keep such needless haste?

I don’t belong to this dry earth,

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Where men deny my salt and worth,

Where mankind thinks that life is waste

And sorrow’s drowned in empty mirth.

This cage of sin and grieving face

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Will end one day without a trace

Where skin and bone slow in a hearse

To rot in earth and tombs encased.

My home’s not where my life was birthed

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Where fathers cause their young to curse

And lead their families to disgrace,

Where love of self does work its worst.

Yet ancient gardens hold my place,

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A castle high where endless grace

Will heal me where my heart does hurt,

With vines of joy in endless taste.

I’ll dish the truth and not the dirt:

I don’t belong.